Tree
by Kageriah
Summary: He never wanted to be a part of this. He may have wished for magic to be real when he was young, but what child didn't do that? Magic was supposed to be amazing and special, not cruel and quick and murderous. But his family was dead because of magic, and for that, these witches and wizards would pay. A story about a muggle in the magical world. Warning for references of sex.


18/11/2012 14:36:00

**A/N: Welcome to my story. I'll do the kind thing and leave this author's note short. Basically, I'm making everything up off the top of my head and really know nothing of what I'm speaking about. If you have suggestions/corrections about weapons, PLEASE TELL ME. And pardon me for not using British lingo; I just don't know enough to fluently string together a sentence. I might throw a mate, some wankers, and a prat in somewhere, but that's as far as I'm going. **

**Universal disclaimer: this is called _fan_ , is it not?**

There were so many things Oakleigh would rather be doing right now. If he were anywhere but here, he would be happy. As much as he loved his family, he despised their little gatherings celebrating Christmas. He'd much rather be washing his mouth out with hydrochloric acid or sewing his lips together (maybe he's been reading too much Norse mythology).

Now, he had nothing against his immediate family; it was the extended family he could stand to be around. It seemed that their visits brought out the worst in all his invited neighbors and sisters. Someone (meaning Uncle Jack) always ended up wasted out of his mind and singing Madonna or Ozzy Osbourne or someone on the kitchen table, which would usually be hilarious if not for his rather obvious lack of clothing. That was just disgusting. And maybe he'd suffered trauma from his unfortunate curse – that is, he always witnessed the oddest moments between couples on this day. Six years ago, he'd gone to his parents' room seeking refuge when his obnoxious cousins overran his room, where he stumbled upon his father naked and cuffed to the bed with pink, fuzzy handcuffs. Then, two years ago, he'd walked into his loft to find Uncle Jack and a nameless hussy doing a very acrobatic version of the twisted doggy style on his desk, which he later tossed out the window. And just last year, he stood as witness to the breakup, makeup, breakup, makeup, breakup, makeup, breakup, makeup session his rather strange sister, Margaret, went through with her quite literally on and off boyfriend. Then he was forced to participate in some sort of ritual celebrating their holy matrimony that he was pretty positive wasn't legal.

So yeah, there were plenty of reasons not to like Christmas. This year, there would be just one.

It started as any normal Christmas: all obligatory hugs, kisses, and smiles, followed by Oakleigh sneaking up to his old loft, which his parents had kindly kept the same as when he lived in the house. This would be the beginning of his tradition of blocking out all noise by blasting his ipod through his earphones a few decibels greater than the noise going on downstairs. Eventually, someone would come up and drag him down with them, but for now, he could just enjoy his alone time.

"Oak?" sounded a voice outside his door. Damn. It was Christine, the "innocent" daughter of their next-door neighbor who mum kept trying to set him up with. It wasn't that he hated her, he just didn't want to be bugged right now.

"Yeah?" he got up, unbolted the door – funny, he didn't remember bolting that – and let her in, leading her to sit across from him at his new desk.

If there was one thing Oakleigh hated more than Christmas, it was his family's stupid and quite obvious nickname for him. They called him Oak. Like a tree. Oakleigh was definitely _not_ a tree. He couldn't stand still for a minute, never mind decades. Plus, they were all… leafy.

Bullets destroyed leaves. He didn't want to be a target for a training assassin. He wanted and was on the other end, to be the one aiming for the tiny shots.

"So, Oak, how's your year been?" and she added sarcastically, "How's the assassination business going?"

He had once let his guard down (just once) when he was visiting his family in spring three years ago and joined her for one of her raves, where he got so high that the Burj Khalifa had nothing on him. She, of course, stayed almost sober so she could drive them home, but she took advantage of his inebriated state and began to ask all sorts of revealing questions about the secretive man's life, including his livelihood. He, for some reason, saw no reason not to tell her and spilled his deepest, darkest secret: he was a hit man, an assassin, a murderer, whatever you wanted to call him. Then he passed out.

He remembered waking up piled in the back of her jeep at the house with a hell of a headache. He went inside, sneaking past his parents, who were cooking breakfast, and went upstairs to find Christine rifling through his bags.

"What are you doing?" he said, and she jerked back and fell on her ass. She spluttered and tried to explain herself, failing miserably, and he figured he'd relieve her by laughing and saying he was joking about being a murderer and that she was so gullible. His employment became a running joke between the two of them.

"What's up, Chris?" he asked.

"'What's up'? You've been in America for too long."

"At least _I _haven't been stuck back here in the same house I was raised. Anyway, how are you?"

She sneered at him, "At least I've actually got an interesting job. You're just an accountant. And I'm brilliant. How are you?"

"I'd hardly call bartending fascinating. I'm well too. How's the mother?"

"I didn't say fascinating, I said _interesting_. She's been better lately, but we all know it's going to be over soon…" she sighed.

He patted her back. "I'm sorry, mate. Does she know?"

"Yeah. I think that's why she's been so relaxed lately; she's accepted it and wants to spend the rest of her days happily," her eyes watered, but no tears fell. That's what he liked about her – she was strong, independent, and brave. She would never let herself be caught crying by her friends. She would rather they saw her as an Amazon, not a housewife.

Not that there was anything wrong with people who cried.

"Now," she sniffed and stood, "I'm going back down to the party. You coming with?" but she knew the answer already.

He shook his head. "I think I'll just mope about up here for a while longer. Or at least until Alice comes up and drags me down with her.

Alice was his other sister. She was the baby of the family and got literally everything she wanted. Including his undying attention. All the time. She could ask him to jump off a cliff, and with one look from her puppy eyes, he'd be tossing himself off at the speed of light.

"Haha, okay. Well, I'll see you then."

She left and he went back to his ipod and pulled a book from his shelf. He laughed ironically; it was _Assassin's Apprentice_ by Robin Hobb.

Albus looked magnanimously at Severus, who looked displeased with himself because he hadn't gotten the information he wanted – the location of a horcrux. But the spy was helping more than he realized. The information that a muggle congregation would be attacked later this evening was extremely important; they wanted to prevent as many casualties as possible, and this was how they did it. It might be hard to stop all of Voldemort's attacks, but it was the least they could do. After all, muggles couldn't defend themselves against enemies they didn't even know existed. Therefore, the wizards had to do it for them.

"Now, Remus, I want you to go to the scene and discretely observe at seven o'clock. That gives us three hours before the attack. See if you can evacuate the people under some pretense. Take as many members as you need," he said.

"Yes, sir," obeyed Remus. "Well, any volunteers?"

Immediately, voices piped up from around the dining table in Sirius' old house. Among them were Alastor's, Arthur's, Tonks', and Bill Weasley's. They would hopefully be enough to stop the Death Eaters. After all, Voldemort only needed a few to wipe out an entire household of muggles.

"Now, I'd like you to try and capture them alive. Killing may be a necessity, and all will be forgiven in that case, but we need information. I fear Voldemort—" insert shudders here "—is aware of Severus' true allegiance and is keeping him out of the loop. We might need to resort to more drastic measures to obtain our information."

"No! Albus, we cannot torture—" Molly Weasley started, but Dumbledore interrupted her.

"Molly, we aren't going to torture anyone. You forget that our good spy is worth more than his sly tendencies. He is also a potion master who can brew veritaserum, and he has quite the lovely singing voi—"

"I think we've had enough of that," said Severus as he ignored the snickering of his colleagues and former students. His face was set in its usual sneer, but his ears were abnormally pink.

Albus smiled and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

He finished the book in three hours and sprawled on his bed, wishing he had the sequels. What was he supposed to do for the rest of his avoidance of his family? But, as always, his sister had perfect timing and she burst into his room about ten minutes later. Surprisingly, she was dragging a young man (boy) along with her.

"Oak~ I have something to tell you, big brother!" she smiled as she said this. Oakleigh observed his sister. She was gripping this boy's hand very tightly (WHAT?) and her face was flushed. Her hair was a little disheveled and she had a bounce in her step. Only one thing could do that to his sister.

"You have a boyfriend?" he asked.

She blinked, bewildered. "How do you always know what I'm about to say?"

"Because, I'm brilliant. And I have ESP."

It was the boy's turn to stare confusedly at him. "I thought you were a guy…"

Both brother and sister blanched before Alice sighed. "ESP, not PMS. He's saying he's psychic."

"Oh…" said the boy as he blushed in embarrassment.

"Anyway," said Alice, "This is Jonah. He's my boyfriend."

"Right, and I hadn't figured that out."

"Shut up, Oak. Now. Do you have anything to say to us?"

Oakleigh didn't know… "Um… Good luck?"

Alice's face scrunched up in a way only hers could, showing that she was irritated with him. "Here's a hint: You're my _big brother_."

"Oh…" he said. "Nope. Still don't get it."

"God, Oak! You're supposed to make me leave the room and then threaten him with bodily harm if he ever hurts me!"

Oh. Well. "Okay. Um. Joe, or whatever your name is… I'm going to… I don't know… defenestrate you if you ever hurt my sister. And ESPECIALLY if you have sex with her. You can count on that. In a life full of fluctuating variables, there will always be one constant – the fact that I will _kill _you."

"…Not exactly what I was looking for, Oak."

Jonah still looked terrified.

"Well it's all you're getting. Now, will you go away so I can get back to… to… whatever I was doing before!" he said.

Alice raised her eyebrows. "_Really_? Because I thought you were going to come down to the party with us."

Oakleigh scrunched his nose in a way only _he _could do when he was irritated. "You know, it's okay. I think I'll just stay—"

"NOPE. You are coming with us whether you like it or not, big brother."

"Oh come on—"

"YOU ARE COMING WITH US!" said the spoiled, adorable little brat. What was up with her interrupting him?

Now it was time to bargain.

"I'll come down in an hour." He was actually aiming for thirty. This was how he usually at least compromised with his sister. She was an evil little thing, but she was easy to play.

"Ten."

"Fifty five."

"Fifteen."

"Forty five."

"Twenty five."

"Thirty five."

"Fine."

Well, he'd surprise her by coming down five minutes early. He usually did that, and yet she was still clueless. She was airheaded, his little sister. Last year, she almost put the cat in the dishwasher to wash it. And he'd heard that three years ago, she had come home daily will bruises on her forehead because she had heard that banging your head on lockers would make you lose weight. Somehow, though, she still managed to get brilliant scores and all her teachers loved her. It was very confusing. Sometimes he thought that it was all just a façade and that she was secretly a genius.

After the epiphany about his sister, he had inadvertently fallen asleep. Oakleigh slowly sat up, yawned, stretched, and looked at the Dalek clock on his bedside table. It was six fifty. He still had twenty minutes before he had to go down.

He reclined backwards and turned off his ipod; his ears were aching from the hours of music. But something was wrong. Where was the music? Aunt Kella always played hours upon hours of music to the family. For some reason, her fingers never got tired of beating on the old keys of the grand piano. She never stopped, not even to eat. And now it was silent. Not even the voices and laughter of the guests drifted up towards his loft anymore.

Was this some sort of joke? He got up slowly and went to the door. Was he being paranoid, or was something really wrong? He opened the door. He slowly stepped down the stairs and stopped dead. There was creaking down there. And then he saw a body (who was it? He couldn't tell) fall and heard a cold, high pitched laugh of a ratty looking woman with black hair weaved into curls and dread locks in an old fashioned, also tattered dress. She looked like she just stepped out of _Sweeney Todd_. And she was laughing. Laughing, laughing, at the dead body.

He had to do something, not just stand here, gawking like an idiot. He had to protect the family.

He crept back up the stairs silently and rushed over to his bag. He pulled out his treasured M1911A1, a Ka-Bar fighting knife, and his old leather jacket, into which he had sewed several throwing knives. He struggled to get the jacket on as quickly as possible and shoved the knife through a loop in his belt. The guns, he kept in his hands.

Then, he stalked down the steps.

"Hey, did you hear that?" said a voice.

"Hear what?" asked the woman with the laugh.

"Footsteps," immediately, Oakleigh stopped walking. He waited until the voices were gone before he even breathed again. He slowly skipped the creaky stair and inched down the rest of the flight, coming to a stop before the next staircase. There were three floors, and only the first floor seemed to be occupied. He heard footsteps creeping down the hallway in the first floor, so he improvised.

He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, jumped in front of the person (who was wearing a black robe. Seriously? Way to be cliché.) And he kicked him in the face.

The robed stranger fell against the wall and banged his head, sliding down the wall, unconscious. Oakleigh raised his gun, suppressor and all, and shot the idiot in the forehead before moving on and down the hall. Luckily, there was only one way to go. He hid at the end of the hall and checked the corner before turning into the kitchen. What he saw overcame him.

Dead. They were all dead: His mom, lying on top of the also dead neighbor, who was grasping for her daughter, Chris. His father was lying on top of his sister and her husband, also dead. Uncle Jack had a scotch spilled down his shirt where he sat at the kitchen table. Aunt Sally was sprawled at his feet. Oakleigh's eyes hardened. There was a man traversing the bodies, kicking every now and then. He didn't hesitate; he raised the gun and shot him, straight through the left eye. The man dropped instantly and Oakleigh progressed into the dining room. There, he saw an even worse picture. Cousins were glassy eyed and staring at nothing, his sister, Margaret was reaching for her husband, who was… split open. No knife or gun or any weapon he knew of could tear someone open, ribs and all, like that. It was like a tiny bomb exploded in his chest.

Three more men and two women were here. They were all holding these strange stick things. And the weird thing was that they were standing over two of his family friends, who were screaming in agony, even though nothing was happening to them. They weren't even being touched. Were they poisoned? But no… One of them stopped screaming and one of the women stepped forward, brandished her stick (what the hell?) and yelled, "_Crucio_!"

And then, what happened, he didn't even know. A red light shot out of the stick and hit the victim, who screamed and screamed andscreamedandSCREAMEDANDSCR EAMED and he had ENOUGH! He raised the gun and shot accurately at every one of the assailants. He killed them all.

He went to the living room, which was the last room on the first floor, and knew what he would find. He knew that little Alice and her stupid boyfriend would be dead. He knew the rest of his family would be dead. He knew it was over. But these – these _things_ – would have to pay for what they'd done. They didn't know what they were doing when they targeted this house. He shot two more people – one man, one woman – and went through the whole house one more time. But where was the _Sweeney Todd _girl? She was nowhere to be found. And it was done.

Everything was done.

His family was dead.

He was dead.

He felt… like his heart was exploding and HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO THEM? Was it something he did? Was this payback for one of his jobs? What. What was going on? They were dead? They were dead? They were _dead? _Oh God, oh god, oh god, they were dead. Alice and what's-his-name, Mum, Dad, Uncle Jack, Margaret and Andrew, Aunt Kella, Aunt Sally, Uncle Benji and Aunt Silla, Lizzy, Stanton, Jack Jr., Cara, Eli, McKenna, Christine, Annabeth, Perry… They were gone. What was he going to do? He had no one left. There was no one in America, where he worked, there were no old school friends, there was no anybody.

He kneeled next to Alice. He checked her pulse. There was no pulse. But there was blood. Blood all over her. How had he not noticed before? There was blood everywhere; he was stepping in it, it was crawling up his legs, it rubbed onto his face, it polluted his vision, and everything was gone.

They were all dead.

And so he screamed.

Remus had never heard a sound like it in his life. It was an anguished, completely broken, dead. And it was coming from the house they had to guard. He dropped his disillusionment charm, got up, and ran dead ahead, towards the house. He could hear the others' footsteps following him.

He almost knocked on the door, but then mentally smacked himself. Of course no one would answer! So he blasted it open with magic, ran instead, and stopped dead. Bodies. Everywhere. They were wrong. They were lied to. They were too late.

"Oh my…" said Bill. There were some who showed obvious signs of being tortured. "The Death Eaters too."

Remus looked over where Bill was looking. Wait. What? The Death Eaters were dead too? And two people were still alive. Well, if you could call that alive. They were just blubbering piles of slobber.

They went to the next room. A living room. And there he was. A young man, who couldn't have been older that twenty two, was holding the dead body of a bloody young girl. He had a streak of blood on his forehead and his black hair was coated in sweat. His wild green eyes were wider than Remus ever though eyes could go, and he was shaking. As soon as they went further into the room, he jerked up, raised a strange metal contraption, and said,

"Move and you die."


End file.
